


For Me?

by dyingpoet



Series: Sprace one shots [42]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluffy Ending, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Modern Era, Trans Male Character, god i live for trans!race yall honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 14:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet
Summary: Spot gets a text from Race and rushes home, not entirely sure what's waiting for him there





	For Me?

**Author's Note:**

> SO this was supposed to be done yesterday but ive been horrible mentally lately so here we a r e !!! better late than never babes!!

Spot had been studying when Race texted him, which was why he picked up the phone so fast to respond. Math had never been his thing and he could use a distraction from whatever the hell was on the page in front of him. 

Looking at the message on his phone, he shut the book before he even got done reading all of it. 

_ Racetrack higgins: r u coming home soon? can u? _

The only reason this was alarming in the slightest was because Race had been the one to practically shove Spot out the door to go study in the first place. Apparently he was becoming much more invested in Spot’s education, or something.

Also, Race wasn’t one to be vague or anything remotely resembling meek, which was the only way Spot could interpret the tone he was using in the text. So, he quickly typed out a reply while zipping up his backpack and starting to leave.

_ Spot conlon: yeah, i’m leaving now. what’s wrong? _

_ Racetrack higgins: idk _

Spot, halfway to the library door, raised his eyebrows at that one, and was tempted to just call Race because he sounded  _ off _ . 

_ Spot conlon: okay, ill be home in ten minutes, okay? will u be okay? _

_ Racetrack higgins: yeah _

It didn’t sound very convincing, and Spot was really going to have to run if he wanted to make that ten minute thing he’d thrown out. As he headed out of the library and toward the subway, he ran over anything that could have set Race off, coming up sort of empty because he’d been doing really good lately.

Like,  _ really  _ good. Spot hadn’t seen him this consistently healthy and upbeat in a while. So, he took the stairs down to his stop two at a time, and hoped that too much damage hadn’t been done yet.

* * *

 

“Race?”

Spot called out the name before fully being in the apartment, slamming the door behind him and tossing his backpack on the table without a thought. “Racer?”

“I’m back here,” came the soft reply from their bedroom, and Spot hurried toward the half-closed door, pushing it open to see Race curled up in their bed with the shades drawn.

There were covers strewn over the bed haphazardly, and Race looked like he’d been crying from what Spot could see of his face in the shadows. He didn't even sit up when Spot walked in there, he just laid there and looked up at him, tired. 

“Shit, what happened?” he asked, moving to kneel down in front of Race. “Are you okay?”

Race sniffled, falling silent for a beat before even looking up at Spot, and when he finally did he looked so  _ sad _ . It actually took Spot aback and how much he had flipped in the last two hours.

“I, uh, I don’t know what to do,” Race finally said, voice shaking as he looked at Spot. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what to do about what?”

Race laughed tightly and gestured weakly at himself. “Anything, myself? I-I was doing so much better and after you left I just broke _down_.”

He started breathing heavily again, trying to hold back tears, and Spot shushed him, running a hand through his hair and trying to get eye contact back before he spoke. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” he soothed, doing his best to keep his own voice from shaking. “Do you know what started the whole thing? Anything specific?”

Race took a moment before nodding slowly. “Yeah, I was just not feeling good about like, myself.”

He gestured to himself and Spot nodded.

“And started thinking about how I’ve been trying  _ so hard _ for  _ so long _ to feel how I want and look how I want and how I’m still  _ not there-” _

He cut off, wiping at his face roughly with the sleeve of his shirt, and Spot pulled him closer again, hearing the rest muffled from his shirt.

“So I just freaked out, and I was supposed to take off my binder a few hours ago and didn’t because I felt like shit, and now I feel like shit because of that, and so then I texted you.”

Spot nodded, letting Race breathe into him for a minute or so, trying his best to whisper what broken fragments of Spanish he knew Race could understand, and some he couldn’t, and held him there, solid. It was what he needed sometimes. 

Race pulled back first, wiping at his eyes again and looking weakly at Spot. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Spot said, smiling his own, now sort of watery smile at Race. “Can I ask you something?”

Race nodded.

“How long have you been binding for?”

Spot expected the pause after that question because they’d had this argument before, and knew the answer before Race said it.

“Almost fifteen hours, I think.”

His voice had gotten soft again, and Spot swallowed the initial piece of him that wanted to gape or yell out in shock, and grabbed Race’s hand instead, squeezing lightly. “Do you think you could take it off now? Just for the night?”

He could feel the guilt and anxiety bleeding off of Race and onto their bed, and a part of him wanted to just leave it be, but the other part of him would die if something ever happened to Race and he could have prevented it. So, he held eye contact and waited.

After a few second of that Race let out an exhale and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good, thank you,” Spot said, leaning in and kissing Race softly on the forehead before standing up. “While you do that, I’ll go pick out a movie or something.”

“And get ice cream?”

“Obviously.”

* * *

 

An hour or so later found the two of them laying on their couch, ice cream eaten and bowls discarded and sticky on the table in front of them. Race had suckered Spot into getting Hulu just so they could watch  _ Brooklyn Nine-Nine _ , and they’d been working their way through the series for the last couple weeks.

Something happened on screen, Spot wasn’t really paying attention, and Race laughed out loud, light and airy, and Spot grinned, pulling Race to sit back more or less against his chest.

Startled but smiling, Race turned his head to look quizzically at Spot. “What?”

Spot shrugged and kissed the top of Race’s head. “Nothing.”

Race rolled his eyes and turned back to the show. “Okay, softie.”

Unbothered by the mock insult, Spot let his arms hang loosely around Race and rested his head back against the couch, content. They were both happy, and honestly, if that made Spot a softie, then so be it. 

**Author's Note:**

> ayyy i hope yall liked this!!! i tried my best to describe the dysphoria accurately even tho it didnt get super in depth???
> 
> please leave kudos/comments if u enjoyed!!! i desperately need it!!!


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